


Let the sea draw me down

by scifishipper



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, Rape/Non-con References, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifishipper/pseuds/scifishipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gina wants to end it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the sea draw me down

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of Gina/Helena and slightly implied Gina/Gaius.

For a long time Gina thinks she can keep track of the days, the shift cycles, the changing of her guard, the heavy boots that pause outside the window to stare. And then she notices Helena’s hair, how it curls around her flight pin, longer than it should have been in the days that have passed. She tries to recall the last time she saw Owens, the red-haired guard who doesn’t meet her eyes. Wasn’t it yesterday?

The days aren’t punctuated by anything meaningful, just a blur of hard faces, sharp laughter, and the dead hardness of Helena’s eyes. Gina shouldn’t care, wants to believe it didn’t mean a thing; her love affair was an opportunity for access and she’d been willing to die. This, though. This was something beyond her understanding. 

So she lives in her projection, imagining a world of light and sun where she is safe and free, her body at peace, floating on a sea of calm warm water. The pain in her real body becomes the tickle of long weeds reaching towards the sun, the curiosity of fish and fins and the way the current tugs at her skin. It saves her, she thinks, when she opens her eyes to the gray metal and footsteps approaching. 

Her body burns and aches, and so she stays still, eyes unfocused, trying to escape once more into the sea. Dark trousers catch her attention – not the blue of a Fleet uniform. Someone else who will use her. 

“Stop,” the voice says. Male. Familiar in a haze of the sun in her mind and the pinch of the collar against her neck.

A soft touch on her cheek. A pre-cursor to the rest, she thinks. “Hello. Can you hear me?” Familiar again. Her eyes are too tired to look up, to leave the warmth that draws her back to her sea.

“Yes," he says.

She feels fingers in her hair, the scent of pine and sweet breath intermingling with the smell of her own feces. 

“But there are no obvious signs of head trauma.” 

A bright light flicks in her eyes, the sun overhead as a cloud passes. She almost blinks. 

“Involuntary eye movements suggest conscious thought.” 

And he’s gone, stepping away, a hushed voice, an offer of rescue. _Rescue_ — she swallows down bile. She doesn’t want to wake to what has happened, she wants to die. _Please kill me._

Her body drifts on the sea, bobbing as the tides bend her limbs, drawing her down into their darkness. This will be her peace.  



End file.
